A Murder Most Festive
by royza-hawkstang
Summary: A fancy Solstice Eve party… and a murder. Not exactly common bedfellows.
1. Chapter One

_A/N: Happy Monday, everyone, and whatever holiday you are celebrating, I wish you the very best one possible. You have all been so wonderful to me with your readership, your reviews, your messages, and the best gift I can think to give you all is a new holiday fic! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, or anything else. With love ve, from me._

 _Also, I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes in this; I was up until one a.m. finishing this and though I have proofread it, I've got a sneaking suspicion there's one or two things that slipped through. Bear with me. ;)_

 _I do not own FMA._

* * *

 **A Murder Most Festive**

 **Chapter One**

A light snow fell across Central City, eddying with the winter breeze in the golden glow of the streetlamps. It coated the half-completed reconstruction of Central Command, turning the scaffolding and exposed wooden framing white, and blending in with the pale stone walls.

Light flooded from the windows of the Presidential Residence; the majestic house had escaped the destruction wrought by Father with only easily-cleaned singeing of its bricks.

Waiting on the front porch, his hands in the pockets of his coat for warmth, Roy felt no less uneasy. Until very recently, this magnificent building had held one of the most dangerous men in the country, and for him, there were still traces of Bradley's power present. Some dark essence of the man that had seeped into the very foundation and would take time – and maybe an exorcism – to eliminate.

He dropped that particular train of thought, his attention fixing on the black sedan that approached. He glanced at his watch. Right on time….

Moving down the steps, out from under the cover of the porch, he waited until the car stopped before reaching out to open the rear passenger door. He smiled, offering a hand to the woman inside. "Perfect timing; I'm glad you were able to join us this evening."

Giving a small, reserved smile, Mrs. Bradley accepted his hand out of the car. "I appreciate the invitation. Though I have to say I was surprised; given the events in the spring and my connection with them, I hadn't expected anything."

The years as a politician's wife had left the woman very skilled in concealing her point under casual conversation. When she had demanded an explanation of Selim's altered body, Riza had been left with no choice but to tell all, including who King Bradley had really been.* After that, the woman had been smart enough to figure out that her late husband had lived a lie with her, and somehow, miraculously, she had understood that he had had to be removed from power.

She released him and he turned to the car's other occupant, handing Riza formally out into the snowy night. He was careful to keep his gaze strictly on her face, rather than let it go wandering over the soft grey of her fitted winter coat. "Good evening, Lieutenant. I appreciate you taking the time to escort our former First Lady. I knew her security was assured with you."

Riza nodded in acknowledgement, her smile polite. "Thank you, sir. Mrs. Bradley is certainly one of the most congenial people I've ever had the distinction to guard."

Closing the door, Roy stepped forward, offering one arm to the older woman. "Well, no sense standing around out here in the cold. Shall we?"

He led Mrs. Bradley inside, Riza trailing behind, into the warmth and light of the residence's grand foyer. The chandelier glittered overhead, sending barely noticeable reflections over the walls and staircase. Garlands of cedar ranged the banisters and two huge wreaths hung on the walls either side of the door over the heads of a set of four well-dressed men. They stood at intervals along the hall, unobtrusive yet clearly security.

Standing in the centre of the room, just shaking the hands of the couple currently heading toward the ballroom, was a beaming Grumman.

"Ah! Just when I started to worry you wouldn't be coming after all!" He shook hands firmly with Roy before taking Mrs. Bradley's hand and bowing low over it. "My dear, it's a pleasure, as always. I was so glad to see you had said you would be coming; it's not a party without beautiful ladies in attendance."

Riza saw the slight pain in the woman's smile, but it was quickly masked by graciousness and a murmured 'thank you'. It had to be hard, being welcomed to a party in the house where she had lived herself, and which had been so unceremoniously yanked out out from under her.

She didn't have much time to dwell on that as Grumman came toward her, his arms outstretched. "And here's another lovely lady!" Grasping her shoulders lightly, he kissed her swiftly on both cheeks, the bristles of his moustache tickling as he did so. "Welcome, my dear, welcome!" He raised a finger in front of her nose, lowering his voice. "Make sure you check for your gift. You'll find it in the branches of the Solstice tree in the main ballroom."

Riza wondered briefly if anyone would be fooled into thinking that the blush rising in her cheeks was from the coarse moustache against her face. "You didn't have to –"

"But I did." He eased her toward the others. "Now, go on, all of you! You came here to eat, drink, and be merry, so get on with it already!"

At the entrance into the grand ballroom, a waiting attendant took their heavy winter coats. Mrs. Bradley disengaged herself from Roy's arm, patting it gently. "I'm sure you have plenty of circulating to do," she said, smiling, "and I've had more than my fill of standing by during political shop talk. Why don't you or the Lieutenant find me when you're ready to leave?"

Before he could say anything, she smiled and eased off into the throng of people filling the room. They stood at bar-height tables around the dance floor where several couples twirled and swayed to the music provided by a small band in one corner.

Riza moved up to a spot just behind Roy's right shoulder. "Shall we, sir?"

"One stop-off, first," he answered, before tucking his hands into his pockets and starting toward the bar at one side of the room. "I'm not tackling power-play schmoozing without a drink in me."

She followed him, smiling to herself, as far as an empty table, where she waited. She watched him move through the people until the majority of him was hidden, then let her gaze sweep the room.

Most faces were unfamiliar to her, but here and there, she spotted ones she knew. General Hakuro and his wife, Major Armstrong trailing his eldest sister, Havoc, Rebecca, and Breda staying close together as they moved through the crowd, Falman standing near a watchful Major Miles and looking like he felt out of place, and Fuery just arriving. The Elrics, she remembered, had been invited but with Alphonse still slowly regaining strength, they had opted to stay home.

 _Good thing, too,_ she mused. _They haven't had a true home for years. Better that they take all the time they can to enjoy it._

Roy appeared at her elbow, carrying two drinks: a tumbler of whisky for himself and a glass of white wine for her. She watched his eyes roam the length of her in less than a second, taking in the gold-shot dark red sheath dress with its Xingese-style collar, cap sleeves, chiffon overlay on the skirt and the slit that extended up the side as far as mid-thigh.

He leaned close, his voice a dangerous sexual purr. "I don't think I've had the chance to tell you how incredible you look," he said, his eyes roving the room as hers had done. "If I'm going to have to keep myself in check all evening, at least assure me that I'll be rewarded for it?"

She glanced at him sidelong, smiling with faint slyness. "Only if you'll promise me the same," she answered casually, taking her wine glass. "You know I can't resist a man in a good suit."

* * *

The evening was still young, barely nine o'clock, when the band paused in its repertoire and Grumman stood forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!" A hush fell over the gathering, and the old man beamed. "Thank you. First of all, let me say what a pleasure it is to have you all here this evening. It has been an eventful year, and I can think of no greater way to celebrate my first Solstice as Führer-President than by with all of you."

He paused, and there was a short smattering of polite applause. "Second, I would like to remind you that this is a party. The lights are up, the dance floor is clear -" Here, he raised his glass of sherry. "-and the bar is open!"

He raised the glass higher in a toast as laughter rippled from the crowd. "Happy Solstice, everyone!"

"Happy Solstice!" the echo came back, followed by much clinking of glasses and several people downing the last of their drinks before starting toward the bar for refills.

Grumman stood still a moment, searching the crowd, then started to where Roy and Riza stood. Roy had started a second drink, feeling a little more braced against an evening full of small talk and nice-making, Riza still nursing her first. He smiled, though not as strongly as before.

"I hate to taint the festivities with business," he said, lowering his voice as he stopped in front of them, "but I wouldn't do it without necessity." His gaze went to Roy. "If you could meet me in the library in half an hour, I have some last-minute paperwork regarding the work in Ishval that requires your signature."

Roy frowned, puzzled. "We weren't expecting anything new, were we?"

"No, but that's the way it goes in this game," Grumman sighed fatalistically. "Something always comes up." Recovering his good humour, he patted the younger man on the shoulder as he passed. "But it doesn't have to be right this minute. Half an hour!"

Watching him go, Roy felt himself grimace automatically. "He's right on one point," he said, almost under his breath. "Something always comes up. It's never just a nice night out at a party."

"It's ten minutes of reading over whatever paperwork they've come up with and signing your name to it," Riza said soothingly. "Ten minutes out of three hours or so doesn't amount to much; it doesn't have to ruin your evening." She nodded toward the huge double doors at one side of the ballroom that led deeper into the residence. "And besides, I doubt you're the only one that has business to take care of tonight."

"True…."

"He's not," a deep voice rumbled from beside them. Alex Louis Armstrong had stopped, his hands folded behind his back, looking almost close to normal in a conservative dark suit, white shirt, and pink bowtie. "He asked to see me in fifteen minutes regarding a case for the Investigations Office."

Roy grinned. "Next thing, he'll want a report from your sister on how many Drachman spies her garrison has caught in the last six months."

"Knowing her, she would be able to tell you the exact number from memory." Armstrong looked around, frowning slightly. "Though I haven't seen her for a while…." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Perhaps she's already being forced to make that report."

"That would be a shame," Riza commented casually. "I was hoping for a chance to chat and catch up. She likely has some information on a certain shared contact that I was hoping she would pass on to us."

Armstrong no doubt understood the veiled reference to Scar, but said nothing. "Unfortunately, my dear sister isn't in much of a chatting mood," he said, smile disappearing. "Our mother quite literally forced her into wearing a dress this evening and Olivier is not…." He hesitated. "How shall I put this…. She continues to be… resistant."

Smothering an amused smile, Riza nodded. "I can't say I blame her entirely," she said, before casting a look at Roy. "Just another one of the irritating little necessities that surround gatherings like this…."

Roy lifted a curious eyebrow. "I'm still wondering how your mother managed to 'force' the Major-General into a dress."

Armstrong's smile returned, this time looking slightly knowing. "I say 'forced,' but I really mean that they compromised. Olivier agreed to wear a dress, but only on the grounds that she also be allowed to wear her sword."

The Major departed a few minutes later for his appointment with Grumman, leaving Colonel and Lieutenant briefly alone.

"Have you checked for that gift he mentioned?" Roy asked, eyes straying toward the huge Solstice tree, covered in glittering lights and silver ornaments at one end of the ballroom.

Riza shifted, her expression distinctly uncomfortable "Not yet…. To tell the truth, the idea of him giving me something makes me…. It doesn't sit well, for whatever reason."

"He's reaching out." Putting a hand on her lower back, he gently nudged her forward. "Give him a chance."

They wove their way through the crowd toward the tree, spending another minute searching among the branches before Riza pulled a plain white envelope from a spot recessed among the needles. Her name was written on the front in Grumman's sprawling hand. She passed her wine glass to Roy before taking hold of one corner, preparing to tear the end open.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!"

Armstrong's voice boomed easily over the murmur of conversation and soft music. Heads turned, and the band ground to a disjointed halt as the burly man soberly surveyed the room. Roy felt himself tense as security guards began filing into the room.

"Pardon the interruption, but an incident has occurred that requires the entire residence to be locked down: no one in or out. Your cooperation is expected and appreciated."

His searching eyes found Roy and Riza, and his expression became even more grim. "Colonel; Lieutenant. I'll need you to come with me."

* * *

 _*See Snap Shots #187_


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

They followed Armstrong without a word through the dimly lit halls of the residence. Riza kept her eyes on the large man's back, watching the way his shoulders moved, riding high with a tension she herself could feel.

They reached the library, its huge oak doors pulled shut, and Armstrong stopped turning to face them.

"Before we go in," he said somberly, "I need to warn you that what you're about to see is rather… shocking."

Roy looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded. "Go ahead, Major."

The first thing Riza saw past Roy's shoulder as the door opened was the blood. A small pool of it was on the polished hardwood floor, stopping just shy of the expensive Xingese rug that was stretched in front of the hearth. She only had time for a brief glimpse, before Roy abruptly turned and caught her around the shoulders, easing her back.

"No." His voice was low, urgent with the need to prevent her from seeing any more. "You don't need to see this, trust me."

Riza pulled away from him. "Sir, I-"

Then she caught the look. His eyes were wide, watching her with the sort of haunted shock that she hadn't seen since….

Since Hughes….

His hand touched her arm, a gesture meant to he comforting, but with that look on his face, all it did was raise goosebumps over half her body.

He saw her look turn determined, and his own eyes widened with the realization of what she was about to do. "Lieutenant, don't -"

Too late. Shrugging free of him, she ducked past his arm, dodged the hand Armstrong reached toward her, and slipped through the door into the library.

The body lay face-down on the floor, facing away from the rough stone fireplace with the blood underneath the white-haired head. A wooden carving of a growling badger, at least two feet in length, lay on the floor a short distance from the old man's body, the snarling head coated in blood.

Riza stood still, taking it all in before her eyes roamed the shadowed corners of the room as if the perpetrator might still be lurking there.

Roy's hand brushed against her back, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in preparation for leading her away. "Hawkeye, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "Come on, you can't-"

She pushed his hand away, stepping deeper into the room. In the heavy gold-framed mirror above the fireplace mantle, she was aware of Roy turning to look at Armstrong, shaking his head with a rueful, half-felt smile at her stubbornness. Ignoring him, she circled to the right, coming up on Grumman's right side.

She pulled the thin chiffon outer layer of her dress over her hand before pressing two fingers to the old man's neck.

* * *

Roy watched, feeling something inside tearing at his heart as he watched her kneel beside the body and check for a pulse. It seemed so incongruous, this beautiful young woman whose face was so solemn and betrayed nothing when only fifteen minutes ago, she had been smiling at him with promise for after they left.

He saw her withdraw her hand and sit back, looking vaguely confused and unsettled. She met his gaze for a brief moment before she turned her attention to the envelope still in her hand from the Solstice tree.

He moved toward her as she opened it and pulled out a note. He didn't see the words, but they seemed to ease some of her confusion, or at least comfort her.

She folded it in half before he reached her, hiding the words, and he didn't press to know what they said. This was not the time or place. Gently, he helped her to her feet, keeping his arm around her for her own comfort as much as his own.

"I'm sorry, Armstrong rumbled quietly as they reached him. "I thought you two would be best to notify first. Though now that you know…." He hesitated briefly. "I'm afraid I have to ask you not to leave the premises until we get this sorted out."

Roy's head snapped up. "Just what are you saying, Major?"

The big man looked uncomfortable as he ushered them out and closed the door. "Only what's true of everyone else here: no one is above suspicion."

* * *

Once again in the ballroom, it was mere moments before the rest of Roy's staff gathered around, Rebecca joining them moments later.

"What's going on, Chief?" Havoc asked quietly, eyes travelling around the vicinity. Men and women were casting curious surreptitious glances at the little group.

"It's, uh…." Roy shot Riza a nervous glance, but found her as impassive as before. "It would appear," he said softly, leaning forward to allow his voice to remain at conspiratorial levels, "that the Führer-President has been murdered."

Stunned silence fell on the little group, four pairs of eyes widening as they stared. Rebecca reached out, settling a sympathetic hand on Riza's back.

"Dare I ask with what?" Falman asked, voice hushed.

"One of those wooden carved statues he was always polishing," Roy murmured. "Somebody…." He dragged a hand over his face, suddenly weary. "Somebody… took it to his head."

Fuery gulped, the colour draining out of his face. Breda swore quietly.

"So who do they -"

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention again!" Armstrong was back in the door, with a shaken-looking young woman who clutched nervously at a piece of paper.

"We are beginning our initial investigation into what has occurred," Armstrong began gravely. "We are -"

"What happened, exactly?" someone in the crowd called, eliciting shouts of agreement. Armstrong quieted the room with a gesture before continuing.

"As I was saying, we are going to begin speaking to persons of interest in the case. When you hear your name called, please step forward."

The young woman - Grumman's secretary, Roy recalled - handed her paper to Armstrong, who began to read names aloud.

Major-General Armstrong. General Hakuro. Colonel Mustang. Major Miles. First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Second Lieutenant Breda. Second Lieutenant Catalina. Second Lieutenant Falman. Second Lieutenant Havoc. Sergeant-Major Fuery. Former First Lady Bradley.

Gasps of shock echoed continuously throughout the recitation, but Armstrong paid them no mind. Finished, he looked up. "Please keep in mind that at this time, you are not charged with anything or even true suspects. We are merely trying to get to the bottom of things. In the meantime we ask that the rest of you remain here. Thank you."

The little group assembled and moved out together, accompanied by two of the plainclothed guards and led by Armstrong, toward the spacious study. Roy, walking just behind Riza, saw her shoulders rise in a brief shudder as she passed through the doors, and a wave of sympathy passed over him. Out of sight of the others, he let his hand brush hers on its backswing. She looked back, giving a small smile.

They dispersed to the seating scattered about the room, and Roy took advantage of the sudden distance to murmur, "You okay?"

"Yes," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "Just… memories. Having to come here when it was Bradley's."

He nodded, understanding, stopping behind a dark brown leather club chair and handing her into it in gentlemanly fashion. Around the semi-circular seating arrangement that faced the fireplace, the persons of interest settled into places with reactions anywhere from curiosity to trepidation.

"I'd like to begin," Armstrong said, "by reiterating that you are not suspects. The Führer-President has been murdered –" Gasps and exclamations of reaction came from around the circle. "– but you are not suspects. Not yet."

His sister's eyes flashed with annoyance; like Riza she was seated in a plush club chair with Miles standing just behind it. "Then just why _are_ we here, Alex?"

To his credit, the big man flinched, but only slightly. "To determine whether or not any of you could be suspects. I went through the guest list for this evening, and all of you were deemed to be the people with the most reason to want the Führer-President dead."

Everyone spoke as one. "What?!"

Hakuro's face reddened with anger. "I seriously hope you are joking, Major. To accuse any of us of the possibility of being a murderer, on Solstice Eve of all times…."

"Nevertheless, General, there has been a murder, and it needs to be investigated." Unlike with his sister, Armstrong did not allow himself to be cowed into submission this time. "And since I'm from the Investigations Office, it logically falls to me."

"And just what have we done to warrant suspicion?" Riza asked calmly.

"I was getting to that." Armstrong consulted the list still in his hand. "We may as well start from the top."

"Olivier: your ambition is no secret, and neither is your role in the battle of Central last spring. It stands to reason that you could be harbouring some resentment toward Grumman for assuming a position that you coveted for yourself." He looked to the man standing behind his sister's chair. "As for your assistant, he could have acted on your behalf."

Olivier's smile was as frosty as her nickname might imply. "Loyal to a fault."

"You could say." Armstrong glanced back at the list. "General Hakuro, your potential motive stands as your open disapproval of Grumman's leadership, and the several counts in your file of insubordination toward him directly."

Scowling, Hakuro folded his arms across his chest. "It's considered suspect to disagree with someone's politics or their management style?"

"Most people, myself included, tend to regard any strong feeling - especially feeling evidence by action such as insubordination - as potential motive," Armstrong explained. "I hope you'll pardon my saying so, sir, but people have killed for less."

Another quick look at the list. "Colonel. Your motive is the same as Olivier's: you're an ambitious man, and Grumman beat you to the top after your actions on the Promised Day that could have put you on the track toward the Presidency."

Roy had shifted to rest one hip on the wide armrest of Riza's chair, his hands folded comfortably in his lap. "It would make more sense if Grumman hadn't been a personal mentor of mine for several years," he pointed out. "Not to mention a family friend."

"Most murders are committed by someone known to the victim," Hakuro pointed out, just loud enough for the group to hear. "Personal relationships in a case like this only tend to strengthen motive, not weaken it."

"Which brings us to Lieutenant Hawkeye," Armstrong interrupted before a verbal sparring match could get too far off the ground. "Like Major Miles, she could have been trying to secure a better position for her superior… but that's not the only factor." Blue eyes looked at her; Riza stared back, unintimidated. "There's always the possibility of a harboured resentment for the years of estrangement from your grandfather."

"Come again?" Olivier leaned forward in her seat. "Did I hear that right? The old man was her _grandfather_?"

"Estranged, but yes," Riza answered calmly. "But I don't hold that estrangement against him. If I'm to have a motive in this, it should be loyalty and nothing else."

Armstrong nodded, but turned back to his list once again. "Unfortunately, the same can also be said of the rest of Colonel Mustang's staff, including Second Lieutenant Falman. All of you have reason for wanting to see your superior succeed, even if it's only to give yourselves a higher position since you would doubtless be carried along with him.

"Second Lieutenant Catalina, your motive is a little more serious." He looked up. "Am I right in saying that, at one time or another you have mentioned incidents of sexual harassment perpetrated on you by Grumman?"

Rebecca flushed. "…Once or twice, but never anything terribly serious. Or at least, I didn't take him seriously. If I had, I would have reported him, or at the very least asked Riza to tell him off if I didn't do so myself."

"I see. Which, last but not least, brings us to our former First Lady." Armstrong's expression turned sympathetic as he looked to the older woman. "Ma'am, it brings me no joy to say this, but –"

"Then allow me," she said, with near-perfect composure. "I have motive to have committed the murder because Grumman occupied the position held by my late husband, and perhaps I resented that fact."

"Exactly."

"Hold on just a minute," Roy put in, looking hard at Armstrong. "You're presenting all these motives, but let's not forget that motive is only part of the equation. There are three criteria to meet: motive, means, and opportunity." He spread his hands. "Sure, anyone can be said to have motive, even a flimsy one. But you need the other two before the MPs will even consider an arrest."

"Fair point," Miles spoke up. "You said the Führer-President was – my apologies, Lieutenant Hawkeye – bludgeoned to death with a wooden statue? Am I right in calling this a crime of passion then? Severe rage?"

Roy nodded. "From what I saw, there were a few good blows, and that statue is no featherweight. It would take someone with muscle in addition to anger. Which I think would exclude Miles, Falman, and the majority of my staff, save Hawkeye. Anyone who's motive wouldn't be resentment or anger-based."

"I can agree to that," Olivier commented, almost grudgingly. "If we're narrowing down the persons of interest, why don't we send anyone we eliminate back to the ballroom? It's not like they're going anywhere yet."

"Very well." Armstrong looked first to Falman and Miles, then to Havoc, Breda, and Fuery. "You can all go, but remain in the ballroom with everyone else where we can recall you if necessary."

The five men just reached the door, where they passed a guard entering, carrying a second piece of paper. This, he passed to Armstrong, who read it over briefly, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "You're sure?" he asked the guard. "All these sources are viable? Unbiased?"

"Yes, sir, though there's one other thing." The guard cast a look at the others in the room before adding, "We checked the murder weapon for prints but only found the Führer-President's. Whoever it was must have worn gloves."

Armstrong's frown deepened. "I see. Well, nevertheless, well done." He waited until the man had gone, before holding up the new page. "I've had the guard asking around, trying to see if any of you had the opportunity to slip away from the party and commit the murder. So far, multiple witnesses place all of you in the ballroom at the time."

Hakuro suddenly went very still. "They can place all of us there," he said slowly, "but don't I remember seeing you slip out the doors?" His eyes narrowed. "And don't we only have your word that you only found the body, instead of committing the murder yourself?"

"I did lose track of you for a little while." A similar expression was on Olivier's face now as she regarded her brother. "And you certainly have the strength to get the job done, Alex." She didn't look away as her brother turned to her in surprise. "Hakuro has a point. You told me you had an appointment with Grumman, and the next thing I know, you come back saying he's dead."

"Except he has no motive," Rebecca put in.

"Not to mention that the first thing you learn about Major Armstrong is that he's essentially harmless," Riza added. "He would never attack anyone without provocation or reason."

"Then who did it?!" Hakuro demanded. "Or do you think it was ghosts?"

"I did it!"


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Striding into the room, using a handkerchief to wipe fake blood from his face, was Grumman, looking mischievous and very much alive. He stopped on the edge of the circle of chairs, looking around. "Well, I have to say that this particular plan backfired spectacularly."

Roy had shot to his feet the instant the old man spoke for the first time, and now stood staring in dumbfounded amazement. "Sir, I –" he seemed to shake himself, his startled thoughts aligning. "What do you mean, your 'plan backfired?'"

"Just what I said, my boy!" Hands on his hips, moustache twitching indignantly, Grumman surveyed them all again. "This was supposed to be the entertainment for this evening: a murder mystery theatre! Even the guards didn't know! But it all went ludicrously awry, for the best possible reason."

He turned to look at Armstrong. "You've done a commendable job, Major. However, I'm afraid I underestimated you. I didn't expect you to react quite so quickly or so well." There are twelve actors in the ballroom among the other guests that were meant to be the real suspects, but the Major managed to find real ones."

"How were we supposed to know it wasn't real?" Olivier asked, lounging casually in the deep chair with the perfect manner of nonchalance. "More people could have been of the same mind as Alex."

"Ah, but I had two methods of that. The first was my house manager, Jenson. Lovely man. He had just stepped out of the residence to pick up the information pages to distribute to the guests when Major Armstrong locked down the house." His eyes glittered with high good humour. "What was it? 'No one in or out?' Brilliant work, but it meant poor Jenson was stuck at the west guardhouse. Thankfully, I had another possible method, though she was urged to keep it to herself unless necessary. Riza?"

Smiling faintly, Riza held up the piece of card that had been in the envelope on the Solstice tree. Writ plainly were the words 'Whatever happens, play along.'

"I was confused at first," she commented, "but when I found that what was supposed to be a dead body still had a pulse, I began to suspect it might be something like this."

Roy turned an incredulous look on her. "You knew all along? And you didn't think to share this news before it got this out of hand?"

"The Führer gave me an order, sir. 'Play along.'" She looked up, still with a small smile. "But I wouldn't have let anyone be arrested. And since I didn't know anything beforehand, I couldn't know this wasn't the way it was supposed to go."

Hakuro's face was reaching near-alarming shades of red from his barely-contained fury. "The fact remains that for the last forty-five minutes, people have been practically held hostage in this house, without knowing why! Just what are you planning to tell them?!"

Unfazed, Grumman waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm told that Major Armstrong didn't inform the general public of my so-called demise. A fortunate thing. We don't necessarily have to explain ourselves to the general populace, though if pressed, we will play the 'classified' card."

Turning, he extended his hand for Mrs. Bradley's. "My dear, I'm terribly sorry you got caught up in all this. This was not the way I had hoped for you to spend your evening; I'd rather hoped you might enjoy it much more than this."

"It's perfectly all right," the lady said, with a genuine smile. "If nothing else, this is certainly the most interesting party that's ever been thrown here, even if the entertainment did hit a snag."

"Then, by all means, let's not hang around here! The night is still young and there's a party going on!" Grummans started for the door. "Come, Major! We will repeal your barred exit order and let things get back to normal!"

Together, he, Mrs. Bradley, and Armstrong swept out of the room, followed by a still-grumbling Hakuro and an indifferent Olivier. Roy caught Riza's hand, giving her pause.

"You could have at least told me," he said quietly. "I was worried about you; you just… you seemed to kind of shut down." Reaching up, he brushed a stray hair from her face, tucking it back behind her ear. "Not to mention that it gave me some grief too."

"I tried," she said apologetically. "But there was only one brief moment when we weren't surrounded by people or talking about something else…. I didn't want to risk being overheard and spoiling the surprise for everyone else." She looked at him steadily. "But you also know me. You know how I react to real tragedy, and that wasn't it."

"True." He smiled. "In the back of my mind, I knew something was off, but I thought it was just refusal to process." Pulling her into a hug, he rested his cheek against her hair. "You realize your grandfather is probably crazy, right? For pulling a stunt like this?"

She pulled back to smile, that same promise-filled smile for what awaited them later, after they had left. "No more so than you."

He grinned in return, before she took his arm and led him back toward the ballroom. As Grumman had said, the night was still young, and even more than half a year after the Battle of Central, an opportunity to celebrate was never wasted.


End file.
